


Kevin Tran for President

by glovered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Camping, Coffee Shops, M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glovered/pseuds/glovered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean comes back from Purgatory to find Sam working as a barista at a coffee shop near Princeton, watching over Kevin Tran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kevin Tran for President

Sam's at a coffee shop of all places. Dean stops short of wiping the window with the sleeve of his jacket, because it's definitely his brother. He pretty much looks like the best thing in the whole damn world.

But he's behind the counter instead of ordering at it, and he's in a black t-shirt with a black apron. As Dean stands outside like a creep, he thinks about how he probably should have had a plan for this because suddenly his feet are stuck like they've been cemented.

He'll just come back later. He turns to go, and—

"Jesus!"

Dean has to stop himself from going into full defense mode and flipping the guy who's just walked out the door over onto the sidewalk. It's just a kid. He's slight, with black hair. His eyes are freaked out looking and he immediately starts babbling, hands held out in front of him.

"Oh god, I'm seeing things. I knew this would happen. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, please don't hurt me—"

It takes Dean at least twenty seconds of watching the kid overreact to place him.

"Kevin Tran?" he asks, incredulous. Kevin makes a strangled noise. Dean grabs his shoulder to keep him from falling over. "Hey, breathe."

"Oh god." Kevin collapses back against the window. "You're just a hallucination, I don't—"

"Woah woah woah."

Kevin bends and puts his hands on his knees and breathes heavily.

"You're fine," Dean says, rubbing his back, glancing through the window at Sam again, to where he's wiping down the counter, talking to some girl. Dean wants to get his arms around him, but instead he's got Kevin gripping his jacket, struggling to breathe. 

"Oh god," Kevin's moaning, like this is not where he'd thought his day was going either. "Not before finals, this can't be happening. I don't have time to go insane."

"You're good," Dean says. "Not a hallucination."

"It's really you? Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me," he says, getting Kevin to stand propped against the glass. "Pull it together, you dropped your keys, your—" Dean reaches down to grab— "You smoke? Seriously?"

"N—no I—"

"American Spirits," Dean says, picking up the box. "Wow, that is hilarious, actually." He tosses the cigarettes into a planter. 

"I didn't actually smoke any. I was going to try, but then you—"

Dean doesn't hear the rest of that thought because this time when he looks inside, Sam's looking back.

His face is expressionless. He's stilled at the counter, holding two cups while other baristas move around him and Dean's heart does a jack knife into his stomach and suddenly he's the one having trouble getting a breath in. 

He holds Sam's gaze until he thinks, _what the fuck am I doing_ , and looks away long enough to hook his arm around Kevin's shoulders and drag him toward the door, saying, "Chill, kid."

A bell jangles when he shoulders them inside, and he lets Kevin go when they get to what might be his table, then he keeps walking, narrowly avoiding elbows and tables, not even watching really, eyes on Sam until he gets up to the counter where Sam is still standing without moving, looking like the world just ended.

Suddenly he is a foot or less away from his brother, finally, after what were not the longest four months of his life, but which were pretty damn extended. He puts a hand on the counter top. 

"Hey."

His voice is hoarse and he feels like he's yelling across a wasteland, hoping Sam will hear him.

Sam's fingers brush the top of Dean's. His eyes are bright. All the blood is rushing to Dean's head and he can feel Sam's heartbeat through the back of his hand, and really, Sam doesn't look much better. It breaks Dean's chest into pieces because the look on Sam's face is almost like he'd given up hope that Dean would come back to him.

"Dude," says Dean. "If you cry—" 

Sam smiles then, a real big one, and twists their fingers together.

" _Dean_."

 

 

"Can't believe he's actually not leaving," Dean grumbles five minutes later. He tries to get comfortable in the chair despite it being one of those hard ones, wooden and angular like the rest of the coffee shop.

But really he can't be too upset. It's not the craggy rock he'd recently taken to hanging out on, and also it's just like Sam to stay on shift because he doesn't want to back out on responsibility. It's cute, if annoying. Sam gave him a free coffee to drink while waiting, and Dean hasn't had a hot drink in what literally might be an eternity, so.

"You can't sit here," Kevin says somewhere, and Dean catches himself smiling into the middle distance, warming his hands on his cup.

He turns back around in the chair and tugs up closer to the table. A pile of papers slips out of order and a pen rolls off onto the floor to Kevin's audible dismay. Kevin ducks under the table to retrieve it.

When he reemerges, Dean gestures to the huge amount of supplies. "Is this all yours?"

Kevin grabs a textbook. "Yes. I'm _studying_."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, well, you do that. I'll be out of your hair in a couple hours."

He glances over at the counter again to see that Sam is beaming at the napkin dispenser while he fills it. 

 

 

When Kevin sighs for the third time, Dean folds the newspaper over and ignores it, but the sixth time he reminds him, "Man, you chose this life."

Kevin looks up and glares at him. Kid's feisty, give him that.

"I didn't choose for you to be sitting there staring at me while I try to read for econ."

"I'm not staring at you."

"Yeah, you are. And no offense, because really, thank you for saving my life, but I only recently stopped having nightmares about you stabbing politicians through the neck with bones. Sometimes I wash my hair twice because I feel like I still have goop in it."

"Wasn't a politician," Dean says. "He was just some dick with delusions of grandeur. And he's dead, not coming back. That's my foot you're stepping on."

"Sorry."

"Man, you are a ball of stress. Were you like this before? Or is it the prophet thing that's got you—"

"Shut up!" Kevin hisses. He holds his book up in front of his face maybe so people won't think he and Dean know each other.

Dean leans in. "It's not like anyone's going to think it's for real."

"Look, _I_ don't even think it's for real."

"Seriously?"

Kevin looks shifty. "Half the time, no. Now go away, I seriously can't fail this class."

"Fine."

Dean taps his fingers on the tabletop for a twenty count, looking around. Everyone near them is a student with a laptop and a dazed expression. There are coffee cups with lipstick pressed on the rim, crumpled napkins and detritus of an afternoon spent trying to think. The tinkling of spoons to glasses, the scritching of pens and tapping of laptop keys, continues uninterrupted until Dean asks, "So, what's new?"

Kevin ignores him, staring harder at his book like it will help.

"Dude."

Kevin doesn't look up. "In the world?"

Dean waves a hand for him to go on. "Anything. I've been gone for months."

Kevin mutters, "This is seriously my life right now," before, "Well, over the summer there was a fire in Colorado and a hurricane off of Florida. And Mitt Romney's president."

"You kidding?"

"Look, I don't care."

"What?"

Kevin shakes his head and goes back to his work.

"I mean, I don't vote, but I thought hell was the other way," Dean jokes. "Speaking of— Smoking, Kevin? You gotta think of your public image you gonna be president."

"What?"

"President."

Kevin goes back to reading, looking half-pleased, half-annoyed. "I'm not going to be president."

"Nah, you said so," Dean says. He misses Kevin's response, though, because he glances over the top of his paper again to follow Sam's movements, watches him replace industrial-sized coffee filters and spoon coffee into them, and then, a minute later, pour some green concoction over ice and hand it to a cute girl in a floral dress.

"So, he does that all day?"

"Yep."

"Does he seem..." Dean looks back to his paper. "No, you know what? Never mind."

He's reading about some football game he didn't used to care about, when Kevin speaks up.

"No."

"Huh?"

"No, he doesn't _seem_."

"Really?"

"Really." Kevin screws up his mouth, watching Sam, too. "Of course not. He was worried sick."

It shouldn't surprise him, but he'd half hoped. "Yeah," he says, feeling it like a punch to the chest. "I would've been, too."

"Look," Kevin says, still annoyed but almost sympathetic. "I'm too young for this. I'm only seventeen."

"All right. Do your homework."

"I'm reading about the Bretton Woods Institute," Kevin offers. He turns the page of his notebook with relish.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. If it'll help you take your mind off of things, I can tell you about it." 

"Bretton Wood? Is that porn?" Dean looks over at Sam, who is now making one of those froofy drinks he pretends not to like, the ones with a swirl of chocolate squeezed out on top of the whipped cream. "Sam! Tell me that's porn."

Sam snorts and shakes his head and Dean can't help the grin that spreads across his face when he sees that Sam's still smiling despite himself while slides the drink over the counter.

"It's not porn," he hears Kevin say from somewhere in the background, scandalized. "It's macroeconomics!"

 

 

Sam is walking through the coffee shop as if he's looking for glasses to pick up but really Dean knows he's coming over their way. _Finally_. He leans back in his chair when Sam comes up to stand behind his shoulder and puts a hand on Dean's back as he leans past to clear away a plate with crumbs and a napkin on it.

He snags Sam by the pocket of his apron before he can walk away. "Hey."

Sam steps closer again. He's warm up behind Dean's shoulder, and Dean wants to turn and put his face against Sam's apronfont but he doesn't. Instead, he tips his head back at an awkward angle to look at Sam upside-down.

Sam only looks at Kevin, but he brushes his fingers across the back of Dean's neck while he says, "Hey, Kevin. How's it going?"

"Oh, you know, not bad," Kevin stutters out, sounding as hot under the collar as Dean feels.

"This guy bothering you?"

"Leave the kid alone," Dean says. "He's doing his 'extra credit.'"

Sam looks down for a split second, and then away, failing to completely wipe away a smile, and Dean lets him go finally, feeling pleased. He shamelessly cranes his head around to watch Sam walk back to the front where he puts the plate on the counter wrong and it slips off but he catches it before it hits the floor. Dean watches him bend over to pick it up, admiring the view.

 

 

When he sidles up to the counter at eight on the dot, Sam's folding his apron and grabbing his stuff and a couple of pastries for the road.

"I'm Lara," one of Sam's coworkers tells Dean. "This is Daisy."

"Dean," he says. "And can I just say, I've had at least six cups of your coffee today. Best I've had in a long time." He jerks his chin Sam's way. "My brother giving you any trouble?"

"Brother?" She turns. "Sam! You never mentioned a brother!"

Dean tries to take that one easy. "Oh, he didn't, did he?"

"Gotta grab some dinner," Sam tells the girls apologetically, coming around the counter. "You two have a good night."

"Now you're ready to go?" Dean asks.

"Dean," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes at Lara and Daisy. As they leave the coffee shop, he calls, "Later, Kevin Tran."

Kevin waves them off. 

"He been here all day?"

"He's a student," Sam says, pushing out of the coffee shop. "You feel like burgers, or what?"

"Sounds great, I'm fucking starving." His stomach is eating itself alive, practically.

"There's a place by my apartment." Sam says. When they pass it, he calmly bends and fishes the cigarette pack out of the planter, empties all twenty into the trash and throws the box into the recycling before moving on.

After half a block, Dean says, "So, there a price on his head?"

Sam nods. "Crowley had him for a couple months. I was taking care of the Leviathan problem and got a call."

"Kevin?"

"No, Crowley." When Dean raises his eyebrows, Sam says, "I know, right? Said he'd been protecting Kevin, something about an ace in the hole for later. Kid was a mess and Crowley heard I was off the deep end, he thought we both could use a tempering force."

"Nice of the guy."

"He said Kevin would be at Princeton so I came out here. Haven't left. Not sure if anyone's actually after him, but I needed to lie low for a while, anyway."

Dean nods, unsure how to broach the subject of getting the hell out of dodge. "Jersey," he finally says. "Kind of a shit hole."

"It's not too bad. Besides, I know for a fact you're going off of what you've seen in gangster movies."

"And the creepy crawlies we've wasted here."

"Civilian life is different."

"Eaten by Jersey Devil in your sleep," Dean warns.

"Went and killed the thing," Sam says, and swings open the door of a burger place. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"I don't know. I remember you being pretty stupid."

It's a trendy hole-in-the-wall, and they grab burgers to-go. Sam's apartment is a five minute walk from there, and down the kind of street that makes Dean put a precautionary hand on his concealed weapon. But it's by a fire escape, on the second floor, corner of the building, which jives with general safety.

There's no TV, and the carpet's kind of weird. Sam gets awkward like Dean knew he would, like he thinks Dean might care about any of that. He gives Dean the grand tour: scuffed, wood-paneled kitchen, bathroom of motel proportions, and small bedroom with a double bed and nice light filtering in to touch all the corners.

When they return to the living room, Sam turns in a half circle like he's looking at his place for the first time. Dean drops down on the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table, slings an arm across the back.

"I bought it at a garage sale. It barely fits half of me," Sam says, gesturing to it.

Dean, who has spent a lot of time in caves lately, tries to convey what an idiot Sam is without taking the trouble to say it.

Sam backtracks. "I mean, I'll sleep on it. You can take the bed."

"Sam, shut up. Anyway, it's better than the park bench I woke up on."

"Gee, thanks," Sam says, and gives him shower instructions.

When Dean comes back rubbing a towel over his head, he feels boneless with the comforts of the real world. Running water and real lights. Sam's right where he left him and smells strongly of coffee when Dean sits down again, now that they're not in the cafe anymore, now that he's clean.

 _Sam_. Dean thinks about him when he slumps next to him while they eat.

He must fall asleep sometime through the first half of the first scene of whatever movie because that's his last thought, and when he wakes up it's dark and he's got a crick in his neck. He feels like he's slept for an eternity or more.

He hears the tip of floorboards and his heart stands at attention. He doesn’t freak though, for once it’s most likely Sam.

"Hey." His voice is raspy.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Sam says from somewhere in the dark.

"It's cool. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm heading out to work."

There's a beat where Dean wonders if he's gone blind and it's morning, or if this is a dream. He fumbles for a phone because usually waking up comfortable means he's got stuff like wallet, keys, cell, but then he remembers that he's been out of town for a while and he just had to throw away his only pair of socks and take a pair of Sam's.

Sam shuffles father away. "It's 4:30."

Dean swings his feet to the carpet and stands, adjusting his shirt and pulling his jacket right.

"Dean?"

"I'm coming with you," he says. "Give me a minute."

In the bathroom, he rifles through Sam's cupboard for a second and finds mousse, which will have to do, and after he wets his hair and combs some of that through, he squirts toothpaste onto the toothbrush there and gives his teeth a vigorous scrub down. He spits, rubs water over his nose and cheeks and then dries his face in Sam's towel which smells like him, a thing that gives Dean a queer tug in his gut and he has to consciously make himself disentangle his hands from it.

"Let's go," he says uselessly when he finds Sam leaning against the wall near the bathroom, eyes half-closed. "Come on, you slacker." 

Sam follows close behind him down the stairs and falls into step once they're on the street. They don't talk because talking before five in the morning has never been their thing, but Dean does look over once, three times, when they're not under streetlights, and Sam catches him at it. There's a lot of eye rolling, and it makes everything in Dean hurt that hurt of hope, of being alive and back and wondering where they're going to go now. He knows if Sam doesn't want to go he's going to have to stay here, learn to deal. They'll be together either way, no matter what.

 

 

Kevin shows up to the coffee shop at eight. Dean's seated in the same spot, the table by the window where he's read today's paper back to front but mostly watched other customers idly and considered the sunrise.

Kevin pauses when he sees him, but when Dean moves his empty cups out of the way, he places his bag in an extra chair. 

"Morning," Dean says.

"Morning."

"You want one?"

"Huh?"

"Breakfast," Dean says, licking flaky croissant off of his fingers. He turns in his chair. "Hey, Sammy?"

He jerks his chin to Kevin when Sam looks over. Sam gives a longsuffering sigh but comes over a minute later after Kevin's unloaded everything into neat piles, and places a warm blueberry muffin on the neat stack of textbooks. He hands him a coffee, too, which Kevin accepts with just the smallest nod of acknowledgement, muttering, "thank you."

Sam touches Dean's shoulder as he leaves, but Dean is too busy watching pink climb Kevin's neck.

Oh. Dean narrows his eyes. So that's how it is.

He watches as Kevin refills the lead in his pencil, arranges two erasers and whiteout next to his notebook, and opens a book. Dean asks, "How's your girlfriend?"

"Wha?!"

Dean's gotta give him credit, kid only splashes a little coffee, which he starts frantically wiping away with a napkin.

"Your girlfriend must love you," Dean continues. "Studying all the time, probably ditch out on movie plans to hang out here."

"She broke up with me," Kevin says. "After the whole, you know. Kidnapping and mental break and stuff. She went to Stanford, anyway. But yeah, it bugged her sometimes."

"But you _were_ into her?"

Kevin shrugs.

Dean's aware he's being a dick. He's just trying to figure out if the kid knows he's gay for Sam. "Probably wasn't First Lady material, anyway."

Kevin stares at him.

"Don't worry about it too much," Dean says. He feels suddenly sympathetic. Just about everyone ends up gay for Sam, anyway. It probably can't be helped.

 

 

At eleven, a short, dark-haired girl comes into the coffee shop and leans up against the counter and makes eyes at Sam. Sam nearly falls all over himself to help her and Dean breaks the pen he's using to do Sudoku.

Okay, really she just walks up to the counter and puts a hand over her mouth to cover a yawn. She's harried-looking, with glasses sliding off her nose, wearing flip flops and her bookbag hangs off one shoulder. But that's how to get to Sam, really. Circuitous, no quick moves. Dean leans back in his chair to listen in.

Sam says, "Oh, hey."

"Hi, Sam."

She smiles and he smiles and Dean sees red.

"I like your glasses," Sam blurts out. "Are they new?"

"What," Dean barks, fist tightening around the pen half. Kevin makes an eeping noise and Dean takes a deep breath and asks again, "Who's that girl?"

Kevin says, "This girl he dated."

"Dated?"

This is not something that computes. Dean's suddenly hit by a montage of Sam walking protectively one step behind and offering forkfuls of sugarcherry pie over late-night coffee.

"Were they in love?" he asks Kevin. "Did she break his heart? Why does he look like that?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Kevin mutters in dark tones.

"Why?" Dean's mind is full of horrible possibilities. "Why would you not want to talk about it? What did she do to him?"

Sam is smiling hopefully, like maybe he's waiting for a ring or something. Dean feels a certain resignation in his chest, kind of like he needs a stiff drink. 

Kevin glares at the girl as she passes with a free – _free_ – drink. "She seems great and all. I just...don't like her."

Dean remembers that Kevin's the victim here. He feels a sudden, uncanny sort of compassion for him. Imagine being in love with a dude, only to watch him fall for some caffeine junky.

"You and me both," he says, and watches Sam go about his business like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. "Kevin, I got your back."

Kevin frowns at him, and then sticks his head back in his book.

 

 

Dean ends up scribbling monster pictures until all the Sodoku boxes are full of them, then tosses the newspaper onto the next table in disgust. He's bored and wishes Sam would come sit down already. In fact, Sam was supposed to pick up and leave with him the second Dean walked in the door. He tries to think up a nice way to tell Sam that chick can't live with them, and fails.

And he wishes he could figure out what the hell happened to Cas. He's not worried exactly, but he's been trying to avoid thinking about it. Last he knew, they'd been lying around by the fire, heads pillowed on the skin of some nameless creature, and Dean was making angel shadows on the cave roof while Cas retold the bible in monotone. Then, Dean blinked and found himself in harsh sunlight in a park, zapped out of Purgatory like it had never happened.

Dean rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Dammit, Cas."

"Dean."

Dean almost knocks over the entire table.

"Oh God!" Kevin upsets his coffee this time. It was mostly empty, but what was left pools across his notebook.

Dean twists in his seat and follows the buttons of Cas's shirtfront, up the tie that's askew, and finally looks right up Cas's nose.

"Cas."

Cas is looking down at him, pleased. "I heard you call."

"Where you been, man?"

"With me," Meg says. She steps up next to Cas, a paper cup steaming in one hand and one of those cream cheesy danishes in the other. "Found him at a gas station outside Topeka."

Dean's lip curls, "Of course you did."

"It's true. Long time no see, Dean. Aren't you going to ask me to sit down?"

"No, can't say that I am. Find your own table."

"Yes," Kevin says. "Could you please move to another table?"

"Ouch," Meg deadpans. "Kevin Tran, if I recall, we were in the trenches together not long ago."

Dean still does, and probably always will, want to punch her in the face. Meanwhile, Cas turns slightly toward the counter.

"I see you've found Sam."

Dean feels a flood of affection that warms him to his boots. "Yeah."

"Bro looks cute in an apron," says Meg.

Dean frowns and gestures to a couple chairs. "All right, are you going to sit or just hover?"

"I'm leaving," Kevin tells them.

He starts to pack up, shoveling his things into his bookbag rather than loading them into it one by one organized smallest to large. Dean swivels to look over at Sam who is cleaning the milk steamers and then looks back to Kevin. "But you have economics."

"Exactly, I can't afford to fail this class." Kevin stands and slings his bag over his head and one shoulder. "I need to go somewhere I can be away from everyone, where I can read in peace."

 

 

"You know, when I said I needed to get away, this is not what I meant."

Kevin sounds somewhat bewildered from where he's squashed in between Meg and Cas in the back seat.

When he glances in the rearview mirror, Dean sees the kid has his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. Cas is staring out the window watching the sparse clouds roll by as they drive down a naked stretch of highway into the desert. There's sand to either side under a hot eggshell blue bowl of a sky.

"We are taking you away from other people, where you can read," Cas tells him again. "As was written."

"It totally was," Dean says. "I've been listening to a book on tape of the thing for the last couple months, at least. That prophet stuff is the real deal, and really boring."

"How did we even get here?" Kevin asks.

When there's no answer, he looks from Cas's placid face, to the sprawling sand out the window, to the gossip mag Meg has spread out over her lap, and up front to land on the back of Sam's head.

Sam is staring out the window, a hand on his thigh and Dean has to stop letting Kevin Tran's lust for Sam distract him. He'll run off the road at this rate, flatten a cactus. Dean clears his throat and Sam looks over at him. Dean looks away, remembering this is the guy who has maybe sold out to become a Jersey Stepford wife, and remembers to be annoyed.

"I doubt we'll stay long," Meg tells Kevin, turning a page. "These two yahoos couldn't stick around anywhere if their lives depended on it. Next thing you know we'll be halfway across the country, elbow deep in some vamp."

Dean honestly hopes so.

"I get carsick," Kevin tells her.

She says, voice mild, "You puke on me and I'll gut you."

"Dean," Sam says, when _Achilles Last Stand_ plays for the fifth time. "Can we please change the tape."

"Whiny."

"You love it," Sam says.

Something about the easy way Sam says it freaks Dean out and he steps on the gas more firmly. Can't sit in the car next to Sam, who talks like they're good, who can't seem to stop touching Dean and smiling at him like he's all that matters. They need to get to where they're camping out, and soon, because he's torn between running for the hills and dropping his hand onto Sam's to see where they can go from there.

They eventually do park, in an empty stretch of sand that goes in all directions, totally barren save a couple half-inhabited camp sites. There are two RVs and a tent a ways away, rough campfire rings and some picnic tables. Dean gets out and reaches his hands to the blue open sky and feels the good pull of his back.

Sam gets out after him. "Set up camp?"

Dean grunts.

"Hey, you pissed at me for some reason?"

Dean goes to the trunk, opens it and leans into it so he doesn't have to make eye contact.

"Nice tent," he says instead of answering, real smooth. "There only one?"

"Yeah."

He glances over at Kevin, who wanders over to the picnic bench and sits despondently with his arms wrapped around his book bag. Cas goes to stand near him like a sentry and Meg lays her magazine on the table to read across from him.

"We'll give him the back seat," Sam decides, and shoulders in next to Dean to grab a hammer.

They set up the tent in silence, Sam securing the corners with plastic yellow stakes so that the wind doesn't blow up the edges at 2AM. Dean jams pieces of poles together, and they both wrestle them into submission and pop up the tent.

Dean unrolls two sleeping bags in through the open front like a magician setting up his act. He tosses in a duffel bag after them, mainly to weigh down the tent further, and then zips it up.

"Don't you have stuff to read?" he asks Kevin, who looks like a lost kid waiting for his parents to pick him up but who is unsure if they'll ever find him. "Work to do?"

"This is not the reality I wanted," Kevin says, but he doesn't seem to be addressing Dean or Sam, just his bag. "How did this happen?"

Dean feels suddenly awkward. "Sometimes maybe we get carried away," he allows, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking around at the sparse dotting of cacti.

Kevin nods and puts a book on the wood of the picnic table, and opens it.

Then, his eyes widen. He turns the page, and as Dean watches, he flips through three more pages.

"It's like...like I can just _see_ it all," Kevin says, flipping another page.

"Huh?"

"Holy heck!"

"You get anything out of that?" asks Sam.

"Duh," says Meg.

Kevin is not available. "Oh my god," he mutters.

"Well, we'll leave you to it," Dean says, and backs away.

 

Cas says something about going into the depths of the desert being purifying, and Meg trails after him. Dean gets down to his t-shirt, it's so hot, and sits on one of the logs near the campfire ring in the shade of a scraggly tree. There are bugs buzzing around because Sam smells like some flowery thing.

He swats a little at the air. "Dude, stay away from me."

"It's not my fault," Sam says.

"You stop using that pansy ass shampoo maybe someone other than bugs would want to get with you."

"There's nothing wrong with my shampoo."

"There's always been something wrong with your shampoo."

"Oh, so now it's my shampoo? We've shared forever!" 

"Yeah, well, it stinks."

Sam fumes a little and looks around like he's trying to find a place to storm away to, which leaves Dean feeling meanly satisfied.

"Nowhere to go?"

"Wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Sam sneers, and then scoots down close to Dean on the log.

A slow fly buzzes past and Dean leans back and says, "I swear to god, Sam—"

"Guys!"

They jerk to look at Kevin, who is gripping a highlighter like he might use it wrongly and dangerously at any moment.

"Please stop arguing. I'm trying to concentrate."

"Thought your power thing was working?"

Kevin frowns at them, two already-read books by his elbow.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam hisses a second later. He's all up close and personal and Dean is going to go to Hell, again, he's sure of it.

"I should be asking you the same question," he says, watching Sam's mouth form into a frown.

"You know what?" Sam says.

"What?"

"No, never mind. I'm going for a walk."

Dean stands immediately, a roil of panic at the possibility of Sam disappearing off somewhere, which is stupid because it's not like he'll just walk through the desert. 

"Yeah?" he says. "Well, so am I."

"Fine," Sam says, and stomps away.

Dean follows at an even pace a foot behind him, which is probably enough to piss anyone off. Sam won't acknowledge he's there. The campsite has quickly dwindled away to nothing, good riddance, and Dean finds himself watching the sweat slick down the back of Sam's arms and the hair at the nape of his neck go dark and wet. 

Twenty minutes pass before both of them have cooled down enough to start walking even.

Sam asks, "Are we doing this again?"

"Doing what?"

"You not talking about what happened to you, until it drives a wedge between us. Things have already gotten weird."

"Wow, that's really sensitive of you."

Sam sighs, and stops walking. "Look, I know I can't help, and I know you want to put Purgatory behind you, but us not talking's just gonna blow up in our faces."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Well, what was it like?"

The sun is blinding so he has to shield his eyes, and Dean's mouth feels suddenly dry. "I don't know, Sammy. Boring? Next question."

"You were bored?"

"Yes, bored, all right? I'm really freakishly good at whittling now."

Sam unsticks his shirt from his skin and wipes a hand over his forehead and says, "Whatever, Dean."

Dean watches him walk away. "I don't believe this," he mutters, then calls out, "I'm not lying to you. Sam, get back here."

He jogs. "Did you want me to come back with some tale of agony? Some sob story?" Sam shakes off Dean's hand and keeps going. Dean calls out, "I spent the whole time thinking about how I was going to be spending eternity with a bunch of monsters and almost gave up on ever getting out."

Sam slows to a walk, frowning.

"Cas disappeared in the woods a second after the Dick thing. I looked around for you but then had to just hope you hadn't come through with us. I kept seeing eyes in the trees, so I spent a couple of hours losing them, and found a cave up at the top of some mountain." That night feels like years ago. Thinking about it, it feels like it happened to some other person. He'd gone crazy and come back from it between then and now. "I hid out there for a couple weeks, killing the occasional thing and eating it. Thank fuck I had a lighter in my pocket."

Sam twists his mouth against a smile, and Dean continues, "Forgot to to eat after a while and realized I didn't have to, it's all in your head or whatever. Cas found me. We spent the next billion hours pissing each other off until one morning I woke up in the park across the street from your coffee place, and that was that. That's the run-down. That's it. Do you have anything else to ask? Wanna know how I saw all your favorite philosophers down there? And Marilyn Monroe. She was a shifter. Who knew?"

Sam has his head bowed, and looks like he's battling to stay pissed off. "I kind of went crazy after you left," he says, after a long moment.

"Yeah, I bet you did," Dean says.

Sam glances at him, then away. "The Leviathan— I cut all their heads off with that machete you gave me for my twenty-third birthday. Liked it."

Dean knocks Sam's shoulder with his as he turns. "Okay, Rambo. Let's head back to camp."

 

 

When they get back, it's to find Kevin writing furiously in the waning light.

Sam leans into Dean's side to murmur, "We might have to amputate the hand."

While he starts a fire, Dean goes to where Cas is standing at another picnic bench. He's slathering mayo on slices of white bread, and unraveling pastrami.

Dean says, "You like doing this?"

Cas hums. "It's very meditative."

Dean grabs a piece of cheese and eats it. "So, I have to ask. What's in Topeka? Why'd you touch down there?"

"The whole city is built on hallowed ground. I suppose there's a connection there." Cas puts a sandwhich in Dean's hand. "You and Sam seem different."

"Look, I don't need any relationship advice from some—"

"Some angel. I know, Dean. I'm just making polite note that you seem happier. Purgatory aside, things seem better."

"They are," Dean says. "Hey remember how you said, if we got back you were going to fix things?"

"Yes."

"How do you plan to do that?"

Cas hands Dean another sandwich. "This is for your brother," he says.

"All right." Dean goes and sits on one of the logs, where Meg is staring into the middle distance. "Where have you been all day?"

"Watching the perimeter." She rolls her eyes at him. "I told you, I'm not out to kill you. Not right now at least."

Kevin visibly freezes up.

"You're scaring Kevin," Dean says.

Meg sits next to him. "Sorry, dollface."

Kevin scoots away. "That's all right."

" _Meg_ ," Sam warns from where he's leaning another log in the fire.

"What?"

Dean looks over. "Kevin. You drink?"

He puts up his hands. "Oh, I don't do that."

"Yeah, don't feel like you have to," Sam tells him, coming to sit next to Dean. 

Kevin's face breaks into a smile. "But I want to."

"Yes!" Dean fistbumps. "Kevin Tran, you are awesome."

He goes to the car and pulls a half-bottle of whiskey out of the front seat, and on the way back hears Sam explaining, "Dean loves whiskey. Like, love-loves."

"Better than being in love with some random chick," Dean says, taking a seat again.

Sam squints at him. "What?"

"Nothing. Here." He unscrews the bottle, and pours Kevin out a capful. "Just knock it back."

There is a lot of sputtering involved, and Kevin's eyes are teary but he looks happy enough. He's an impressive guy, really. He made it through high school without drinking. Beer had been a staple for Dean, and even though Sam was all innocent and shit, he used to have a couple after school sometimes, and ditched out on math to meet Dean out by the bleachers when he was feeling particularly angsty.

Kevin only has a couple shots and an entire bottle of water to chase them, but by the time it's dark he's listing against Sam.

"This is going to go on your record," Dean tells him. Just because he's not giving Kevin shit for being into his brother, he's not above messing with him.

"No!" Kevin's eyes are wide and horrified in the firelight.

"Drinking doesn't go on your record," Sam tells him, patting his shoulder and shooting Dean a look of reprimand.

"Yeah, what have they been teaching you in school, anyway?"

"Ahem," Meg says, pointedly.

"Yeah, shut up," Sam says to Dean. "I for one would like to know if she could waste thirty demons with just a stake."

"She obviously survived it," says Cas.

Meg says, "That's not the point, Castiel."

"Apologies. Do continue."

"Thank you. As I was saying—"

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says, while Meg tells a slough of stories that have Kevin looking queasy.

"What?"

"C'mere."

"What do you want?"

Dean wants to pinch his cheeks, but that's not something you do in front of other people. "Sam."

Sam scoots toward him five inches and rolls his eyes even as Dean lines their feet up on the ground and tells Sam something important, a memory to keep. It's their thing, memories passed between them on dark drives across the country or seated at night on the hood of the car.

"Remember when you were fifteen, you and me tried to see how many Twizzlers you could eat before throwing up."

"Urg," Sam says, which just about sums it up.

There's another group of people a ways away who go to bed early, but their group doesn't get up to head to bed until the fire dies down. Kevin's almost asleep against Sam, and Dean feels like he's inhaled too much smoke for one night. 

As Sam goes to brush his teeth, Dean asks Cas, "Miss our cave?"

"Not in the slightest," Cas says, staring at the smoldering embers of the fire ring. "No reflection on the company, of course."

"Me, neither. See you in the morning."

Dean grabs ahold of Kevin's jacket to keep him steady when he stumbles toward the tent. "You take the car."

"The car?" Kevin squints, confused, from the dark shape of the impala ten yards away to where Sam's just disappearing into the tent.

"Yeah, backseat's great. You're short enough, too. There should be a blanket rolled up in there."

"But—"

"Listen, if it's Meg you're worried about, she could have killed you a hundred times if she wanted to. So I'm guessing you're good."

Kevin blanches in the dark. "So, you guys are going to be over there—"

"Don't worry," Dean says. "We'll be fine."

He rummages around in his pocket and then puts the keys firmly in Kevin's hand. Even so, Kevin fumbles them and is still standing outside when Dean zips the tent flap slowly closed.

"Dean?" Sam says.

"Who else?"

"Did you take your shoes off?"

"Yes," Dean says, and then slowly eases off his boots, unzips the tent open a crack, and shoves them out.

He struggles out of his jacket and then into his sleeping bag, and gets all the way zipped in, the sleeping bag like a cocoon around him. There are a couple of pebbles poking at his back but he's good, real good.

"You gonna tell me why you weren't talking to me for half the day?" Sam says, after Dean's settled.

"I'm asleep."

"Dean."

Dean has to pop his head out again. "Look, if I'd of known that chick wasn't giving you enough attention—"

"Shut up—" Then, Sam draws up short. "Oh, wait, is that what this is about?"

"No."

"Seriously? Look, she's a great girl. She was a customer. Well, still is."

Dean groans and struggles to turn so that his back's to Sam, because before bed and half a foot away is not the time to hear about Sam's vanilla jerkoff fantasies. He gets wound up uncomfortably in the sleeping bag and considers heading for the car instead. He and Kevin at least agree on things.

"She's so smart," Sam continues, while Dean rubs a hand over his face in annoyance. "And has a great vocabulary and a scary knowledge of post-World War II reconstruction. And she's really, _really_ hot."

"Jesus," Dean grumbles.

"But that doesn't mean that I thought it'd be the be-all, end-all."

"Sam, I don't want to know."

"Sometimes dating is just dating," Sam tells him firmly, talking over him. "It didn't mean anything."

"Okay." Dean says, feeling immediately better, despite not caring. "She _is_ really hot, though."

"Yeah, and totally my type if I were into it. She was too busy, anyway. She had the MCATs coming up—"

"Wait. She broke up with you?" It's rare Dean gets relationship dirt on Sam, and this is too good. "Who the hell is this girl?"

"Fuck you," Sam says, but without heat. "She's really awesome."

"Look," Dean moves around until he's comfortable again, smirking into his jacket pillow. "I'm tired. I've got sand in my chones and just found old socks at the bottom of my bag, so let's just go to sleep. I don't need to hear about your pathetic excuse for a love life."

It's silent for a beat, but he's wrong to think that the awkwardness is over.

"You were gone, man," Sam says, quiet.

Dean pretends to have fallen asleep in the .01 seconds. There's nothing he can even say to that. He knows he was gone, was his own fault for not reading the fine print and he's felt guilty about it every second since.

"You were gone," Sam repeats, "And nothing means anything when you're not there, making stupid jokes and stealing my last pair of clean socks."

"You can have these," Dean finally says, reaching down to grab the socks which are probably a year old and gross.

"That's disgusting," Sam says, and tries to shove them back in Dean's face.

Dean says, "You _missed_ me."

"Now who's an attention whore?"

 

 

Sam's on a log by the charred remains of last night's campfire when Dean trips out over the edge of the tent, the sun high in the sky.

"Morning," Sam says. He looks normal, but there's a certain something there that makes Dean feel like something's going on.

"Morning," he says. Then he remembers how he basically tried to extricate a love note from Sam last night.

He sits and nods to Kevin, who's at the picnic bench again a ways away, talking to Cas.

"Castiel?" Kevin asks. When Cas only stares at him, he continues, "How do I know if what I see is something that's going to come true?"

"Does it come to you like an innate knowledge?" Cas asks.

"I don't know." Kevin frowns. "I can't tell if it's destiny or just really good visualization? Because I took a Meet Your Goals workshop and I can't tell what's me being too hopeful or what's sent by god."

They stare at each other for a long time, until Cas finally tells him, "I am not a Prophet," 

"Okay." Kevin sighs, and ducks down to read again, his face three inches from the page.

"Talk about nose to the grind. Think he can actually concentrate out here?"

"He looks like he's doing a pretty good job," Sam says.

They watch as Kevin starts smiling again into his reading and puts an orange soda can on a piece of paper that was trying to fly away.

Dean turns on the log. "So how are you doing, really?"

"I'm good," Sam says, still watching Kevin.

"Yeah, job, crappy apartment. A respectable member of society. I'm proud of you, Sammy."

Sam turns a look on him. "I'm good," he says again, slowly like Dean's stupid, "Now that you're back, I mean."

He turns away again.

"Oh," Dean says.

"I turned in my two weeks before we left."

Dean rubs at the back of his neck. "Oh."

"Idiot," Sam mutters as he steps away to go make a couple of sandwiches.

"We got any coffee?"

"Make it yourself," Sam says. "I'm on vacation."

Dean closes his eyes and leans back on his hands, feeling the sun burn into his skin. He hears Cas say, "For what it's worth, Kevin Tran, when you are President, you will make a fine commander of America's lost and hopeless."

"For the last time, I'm not—" says Kevin.

 

 

"Is that Orion?" Kevin says that night, after more whiskey and real life ghost stories around the campfire. He's pointing in some arbitrary direction. "That's totally his belt!"

"Dude, Sam," Dean leans to his right. "What kind of future leader of our country doesn't know Orion's a winter constellation?"

The day had been awesome. He and Sam and Cas had taken a hike and come back exhausted, and had hotdogs for dinner. Now, they're flamewarmed and Sam's eating melted chocolate and Dean's trying to not to burn the roof of his mouth on a charred marshmallow. Meg's great at roasting marshmallows because she's indifferent to fire, and Cas is on his sandwich kick, so together they make a mean s'more. 

"I can definitely hear you," Kevin says. "And I'm not going to—"

"Not going to what?"

"Nothing."

"What? You backing out?"

Kevin sits up and straight up glares at Dean. "You told me before that there's no way I could be president."

Dean rubs his jaw. "I have no clue what you're talking about, dude. You're set up for the big time, think of it like a superpower. You're screwed but maybe it's a good thing."

Kevin seems to deflate. "It doesn't really matter. I didn't even get into school, not really."

Sam stops him. "What are you talking about, Kevin?"

"Dick Roman. He's why I'm at Princeton."

Dean looks at Cas across the fire. Cas frowns back.

"I fail to see how Dick Roman could have influenced his academic standing," he says.

"Yeah," Dean says. "What he said."

"He sent in a letter of recommendation because I cooperated. He had my mom! I didn't know what else to do! So, it's not real. I couldn't ever go on oath about anything knowing I took a bribe." He puts his face in his hands. "I know, I know...poor me, right? I'm just going to finish school and become an accountant. I'm really good at math."

"H'okay," Dean says. "Things are getting depressing. Time to hit the sack."

Dean gives Kevin a hard pat on the shoulder when they stand. Kevin looks pitiful, and Dean's unsettled by it, somehow, watching Kevin curl up in the back of the car.

"He'll be fine," Sam says, moving past him. "Let's go to bed."

Sam's probably right. Dean shakes it off. He's covered in cooling sweat of the day and the fire, campfire smoke in his pores, bone tired, but good. His mouth is marshmallow sticky and Sam makes him take his boots off again, this time before he gets in the tent. 

However, all annoyance dissipates when he crawls in and Sam says, "I'd take your pants off, too."

Dean jerks his head up. It's hard to tell if they're looking at each other because it's dark, but Sam's on his knees in the next sleeping bag, with his hands at his own belt, and there's no reason he would have said that other than—

Dean is probably just hoping. And Sam is just tired out from a long day trying to find shade. Dean unbuckles his belt with shaking hands and shoves his jeans down to his knees, feeling nerves anyway, like he's performing some strip tease. He works to get them off the rest of the way in the cramped space, and then gets his jacket off and puts it down like a pillow and stretches out, hesitating before saying fuck it and lying out on top of the sleeping bag instead of inside of it, even though the air's chilly.

He rubs a worried hand against his leg, skin going goosebumped while Sam spends a stupid amount of time zipping up the tent flap and then organizing his own sleeping bag.

Dean puts an arm behind his head and moves one foot up so his knee is crooked. The dark makes him daring. He can just make out Sam's silhouette shucking its own jacket and then Sam's face lights up blue when he checks his phone again like maybe there will be reception. Dean wants to make a move so bad, tug Sam to him, but it's most likely post-Purgatory madness that's crept into his bones and given him brain fever. It's all good. If Sam isn't down for it, he won't notice. If he is, then he'll take it. It's a gamble.

When Sam finally gets situated, he leaves the zipper open. Dean notices this pathetically, and then there's finally quiet, except for night sounds. He listens to the reverent howling of coyotes and the snapping of what's left of their fire. In the distance comes the annoying falsetto of Meg's voice out by the picnic table, followed by Cas's intermittent responses. 

Dean comes out of his half-dream state with a jerk when Sam rolls toward him.

Sam instantly pulls away. "Oh, I thought you were—"

Dean grabs him by the arm, and presses his thumb into Sam's shoulder joint too hard, to make him stay. "Yeah, yeah, I just fell asleep waiting over here."

"Oh, well—"

Sam gets up on elbow, a looming dark thing against the darker tent, blocking out Dean's vision. He stays still for a long time, looking down at Dean while Dean spreads his hand over his shoulder, rubbing fingers up under his shirtsleeve.

Sam says, "This okay?"

"You didn't even tell anyone you had a brother," Dean says. The thought comes out of nowhere.

Sam stills and then finally lies down again, but he rolls into Dean's side a second later so his face is close, breathing Dean's breath. "I couldn't even talk for three months. Let alone talk about you."

"Oh."

"You done complaining?"

"Yeah," Dean says, on an exhale.

"Ok, good. Goodnight," Sam says and Dean falls asleep almost immediately.

 

 

That night, Dean dreams about bad luck and of finding a quick hiding place in the shelter of tangled roots. When he wakes up he has to blink himself into coherency for three full minutes until he stops slipping back under. He opens his eyes to a hazy, pre-dawn light seeping through the tent walls and then rolls onto his side, swallowing against a dry mouth. He puts an arm up under his balled-up jacket and puts his head on it and tries to get his eyes open. 

He stretches, settles in again, feeling Sam's eyes on him. When he cracks an eye he sees he was right.

"Hey, creepo," he says after clearing his throat.

"You've been staring at me since you got back," Sam tells him.

Dean's not in possession of all of his faculties at this time, five-thirty in the morning and Sam a foot away from his face.

"Ah," he says, when the silence has stretched too long. His mind is snagged on a thought.

"Dean."

"Hm?" He closes his eyes again and can feel Sam inch closer.

"This okay—?" Sam asks again, and the worried quality of his breathing makes Dean do something stupid, impulsive, even though he's been waiting years.

"Don't be a dick and make me say it," he says, opening his eyes like a masochist just in time to see how the words hit.

When Sam does the opposite of what he was expecting, shifts over him without a word, Dean rolls onto his back easy, in a daze.

"Sam," he says while Sam covers him entirely, his elbows on either side of Dean's head, kneeling between Dean's legs. Dean repositions himself so they're both comfortable.

Sam touches Dean's knee, then pushes his hand down Dean's leg, under his briefs and gets his ass in a hold.

"Is thi—"

"Sam," Dean warns. He runs his hands up Sam's chest, rumpling his shirt until Sam lowers down a little so that it's this side of painful.

Dean's hands are trapped between them, over Sam's heart, one sliding up to comb up into Sam's hair. He opens his mouth on a groan at the feel of Sam. It's cut off when Sam bites at his jaw and presses fingers to Dean's lips, rolling his hips so they push together.

"Shut up," Sam murmurs, because Dean's moaning accidentally.

He loops his arms around Sam's neck, and wraps his leg around the back of Sam's knees to force him closer.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam says. "Jesus Christ, feel you—"

Dean tugs on his hair and kisses the side of his face, wondering if Sam will let him kiss him on the mouth, or—

He says, "I left you alone to kill hundreds of cannibalistic whale people."

Sam half-laughs, the sound close and warm. "This an apology?"

"No," Dean says, but continues on like it is while Sam smoothes palms down his sides, his neck. "I know you worried yourself sick over me being tortured. It was just purposeless, fucking boring, no future. I spent the whole time missing you, worried you were worried, worried you got killed by Leviathans."

"Dean."

"Hm?"

Sam tugs Dean's bottom lip between his teeth and it's kind of everything Dean's ever wanted. He's aching everywhere the touch Sam in any way he can, Sam warm and familiar between his legs, and Sam kisses him slowly then, again and again until he feels stupid with it and can't do anything more than stroke Sam's hair back out of their faces.

"Dean, when you were gone—" Sam says, "I tried everything, I really did. Like last time, wasn't enough. Tried to get down there myself—"

Sam's everywhere, boxing him in with his arms, Dean sweating under him at the thought. He flips them, a slow reconfiguration of arms and legs. Sam lets out an oof sound like he's surprised and has no idea where Dean learned that move.

He gets a knee up by Sam's waist and ducks down to kiss him again. Sam's hands go instantly to Dean's ass, the sleeping bag sliding off of them.

Dean says, "Baby, I would never have, ever, wanted you down there." Sam lets out a breath but Dean rubs a thumb over his jaw, bottom lip. "Missed you more than anything, but wouldn't have wished that. Trying to do right by you. What kind of guy wants his brother somewhere like that?"

 

 

"Kevin Tran has finished his reading," Cas tells him when it's 10AM and Dean finally staggers out of the tent feeling like a saved man.

"Nice," he says. "Now we can get back to civilization. Give Sammy a proper housewarming party before we head out."

They pack up quickly, Dean waggling his eyebrows Sam's way and Sam rolling his eyes but then lifting any heavy object like Dean doesn't know he has insane muscles. Within the hour, Kevin's head is lolling against Meg's shoulder with the rocking of the car, drooling on her leather jacket. Cas stares down at him with some consternation.

"Is his face supposed to be this red?"

"I think we killed him," Meg says.

Dean looks back at the road. "He's probably just not used to going outside. He'll be fine."

Kevin sleeps the whole ride back, even sleeps through when Cas touches his face a bunch to cure the sunburn.

Dean keeps his eyes on the road for the most part. The highway zips out into nothing in front of them, leading them along toward where the sun's melting bloody at the horizon. Sam has eyes only for Dean, and Dean rubs his knuckles over Sam's leg, his arm, whenever the urge strikes him.

When they pull up to the campus at night, Kevin zombie stumbles out of the car but manages to right himself and grab his bag.

"Well," he says, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk looking in at them. "It's been weird."

"Productive," Sam corrects. "You finished like, a hundred books."

Kevin smiles. "Eleven."

"Well, we're headed back to Sam's to hit the hay," Dean lies. "I'll see _you_ tomorrow."

"Bye, Cas," Kevin says, waving. "Bye, Sam. Dean. Meg." He smiles tightly and then mumbles, "Really should start studying in the library," as he trails away.

They watch until he's out of sight and then Dean cruises the car around the perimeter of the row of buildings, where he parks in an empty space.

"Okay, we're going in," he says, looking out at a dark entryway.

"What purpose would following Kevin Tran serve?" asks Cas.

Dean turns. "Sam?"

Sam spreads his hands. "Look. Kevin thinks Dick's letter got him admitted into college. He's lost all self-esteem."

"Self-esteem is a vital aspect of being President. Many of those men...." Cas shakes his head. "Have quite a lot of it."

Meg leans between the seats. "I'm guessing lying is out of the picture?"

"If it does turn out to be true, we don't lie," Sam says. "We just don't tell him that we checked at all. But if Dick Roman didn't send in a letter of recommendation, getting Kevin into school—"

"Then he'll be a billion times happier," Dean says.

"I'm going to say what we're all thinking," Meg says. "That kid has issues."

"The kid's given up on his entire life dream," Dean says.

She puts up her hands and says, "Oh no, I do agree with you. My thinking's you pick your goal and you stick to it. It's just sad to see people like you get in the way of some kid's plans for world domination."

"Hey! It wasn't my fault!"

"Who's the one who told him he had to give up everything? Yes, you. Anyway," she says. "I'm in. The idea of Kevin Tran becoming president is frankly hilarious. What's the plan?"

"We go in, check his file," Sam says. "Get out, and tell him what we found."

Dean swings open his door. "Capiche?"

Meg says, "Lead the way."

 

 

Things have been worse, a lot worse, grand scheme of things, but Dean really hates getting lost. Really, really, really hates it. He stomps through another empty courtyard lit up with moonlight that's impossibly, almost mockingly bright, past a row of vacant windows. It's chilly out and Meg keeps making these snide comments about how it's not like she's ever going to die so she doesn't exactly have any pressing concerns about time, and Sam hasn't said much but Dean can tell it's wearing on him, and he's not being helpful really either. The only one who isn't pissing him off is Cas, who, entirely judgment free, is filling Sam in on the finer points of their stay in Purgatory.

"Bathing meant entering the river, which was knee deep with flesh-eating rabbit corpses. Needless to say, Dean rarely cleaned himself. He was objectively revolting."

Never mind.

"It said it was in the 300s," Dean says. "But every friggin' building looks the same."

"Chill," Sam tells him, stopping to examine another plaque-style map on a wall.

"Don't tell me to chill, I spend months navigating the stump swamps of Purgatory to come back here and get lost in a—" Sam turns and puts a hand over his mouth.

"What's a stump swamp?" Meg asks.

"It's a swamp with many stumps," Cas tells her. 

"I'm not dismissing your PTSD," Sam tells Dean in low tones, and doesn't let his hand up when Dean tries to deny it. "But I'm letting you know that you're overreacting."

"Mmph."

"Okay?" Sam asks.

Dean licks Sam's palm, but Sam remains unmoved.

"Cute," Meg says. "Are you going to give him a kiss or—?"

"Shut up."

"Like a knife to my unbeating heart," she deadpans. "Come on, Castiel."

Dean has always hated school and this whole experience only hammers that in further, so when they eventually find the room, Dean breaks through the window with a fire extinguisher with vicious pleasure.

"Right," he says, after they've jumped into the dark office.

Sam goes to sit at the computer, shards falling out of his hair. "I got this."

Meg, meanwhile, goes to a filing cabinet and picks out a folder from the top drawer. "You boys really go for the brute force angle, don't you?"

"You've seen us in some dire circumstances," Sam says.

"Yeah," Dean says, baring his teeth. "We're actually really sweet."

Cas is the one to find Kevin's file, a simple matter of alphabetized folders, and Sam goes to read it with Meg and Cas standing to look over his shoulder. He flips through, and does it again, and stares.

"Well?" Dean asks. "What does it say?"

"Kevin's file only shows three letters of recommendation: one from his cello teacher, and two from internships; none of them are from Dick Roman."

Dean has apparently gotten way too attached to this kid, because at that confirmation he lets out a breath and feels a ridiculous amount of relief and Sam grins right back.

"Well," Sam says. "That settles that."

 

 

"Missed it?" Dean asks, coming to stand over Kevin's table the next day.

Kevin looks around the coffee shop and says, "Well, there's water and a working toilet, not a cactus you make me go behind. That hurt, by the way."

"Dude," Dean says. "Pee _behind_ the cactus, I said. Don't sit on it."

"I didn't mean to!" Kevin hisses, looking scandalized. "Castiel totally crept up on me! He was watching!"

"Well, he's a guardian angel. That's what they do."

"Only to you." He sounds accusatory as if it's in some way Dean's fault. "He's _your_ guardian angel."

"Wait, _my_ guardian angel—"

Dean is about to argue that one, but a girl goes by and says, "Hi, Kevin."

Kevin says, overly loud and giving Dean big eyes telling him to shut up, "Oh, hey Cindy."

"I didn't see you at rehearsal this weekend."

"Yeah, I...went camping."

"Camping! Invite me next time. Do you rockclimb?"

Kevin blanches. "Uh."

"Hey, I gotta go," she says. "See you around!"

Once she's gone, Dean says, "Hey look, you have friends."

"She only wants to be my friend because my notes are thorough," Kevin says.

"Well, it's not a bad thing to be known for, as far as infamy goes."

"And some girl recognized me last night as that guy who knew the baristas and the bums around here. You're the bum, by the way."

"I resent that. Remember, it's not who you know, it's what you know." Sam catches his eye from the counter, then, and nods to Kevin. Dean says, "No, that's not true, but let that console you for the time being. We have a greater issue at hand."

"What? My current spiral into second in my class?" Dean drags out the chair opposite and sits, and Kevin says, "No. I can't afford to get an A-minus, I just can't, so I'm sorry but you're going to have to sit at another table because you're very distracting—"

He goes cross-eyed when Dean thrusts the application details under his nose.

"Wha—"

"See?"

Kevin takes the papers. "What are these?"

"Your file, from the registrar. No letter from Dick."

Meg appears as if out of nowhere in another chair. "One hundred percent all on you, peaches."

Cas shakes his head, standing at Dean's elbow. "Politicians rarely follow through on their promises."

"So, when I'm Vice President," Dean starts, then grins when Kevin looks at him with alarm, like Dean might actually be serious.

"Wait," Kevin says. "Did you obtain this through illegal means—"

He sounds pleased though, like he can't believe it but he wants to. So Dean tunes them all out, watching Sam. He's thinking that the way Sam makes drinks is adorable and kind of hot, Sam acting all big and competent and all the customers lining up to watch him. Dean's thinking about where they're going to go from here, how Sam might even hold his hand while they drive sometimes, and how, even if he wanted to run and Sam wanted to stay, they'd figure it out. Sam's the best thing ever.

Dean's suddenly aware of how Kevin's watching him, following the direction he's looking. 

"I know how you feel about him," Kevin says, and actually has the balls to look sympathetic, like it's anything Dean regrets.

Dean glances at Meg and Cas, but they're having some random conversation, so he looks back to Kevin. Kevin leans back under the force of Dean's frown, but still says, "I mean, I guess with the way you two grew up, it makes sense. And I get it, believe me, I do."

"You know what," Dean sneers. "It's cute you have a crush on my brother. But you're already a prophet. If you want to be president, you can't be a prophet _and_ gay. You have to choose one."

"It's probably true," Meg says.

"Only historically," Cas tells him.

Sam, who seems to selectively notice when Dean calls people out, shouts over, "Don't listen to him, Kevin. You can be whatever you want."

Kevin freezes. "What?"

"You can do it," Sam says, and then goes back to frothing milk to pour into a paper cup.

"I know," Kevin says quietly, getting all mouth-breathey.

"No, but, you're already a prophet," Dean tells him, just in case Kevin missed his point. "You can't have Sam, he's mine."

Kevin rolls his eyes, and Dean is smug and characteristically prepared when Sam walks over a couple minutes later. He tips his head back and Sam kisses him upside down. He tastes like a pumpkin spice latte. It's fall.

"Guys!" Kevin says from far away, mortified.

Dean looks over, sneaking his fingers up to curl around Sam's wrist. "Kevin Tran, do your homework."


End file.
